{Enki | The Pantheon}
“Execute formation ‘Acid Rain.’”
Korac ordered over his earpiece and provided the coordinates while he spun with his axe, slicing four Imminent soldiers and cutting one in half. Above, four hundred Icari carried as many Caprent partners over the throng, who regurgitated acid once the Vast Collective’s black and blue troops cleared the target zone.
A chorus of Imminent screams sang Korac a much anticipated melody. “Excellent, troops. Prepare the lures for the Luk traps.”
For the first time in battle, strategy wasn’t Korac’s primary mindset. Instead, other external factors muddied his train of thought. T.a.o. was talking to Razor occasionally. Korac could tell by certain words she had used in the past. It made him itchy, allergic to his brother’s bullshit. Razor’s ambiguous aims troubled Korac’s thoughts, among other things.
The weight of the ring box in his pocket.
Echo.
And Rayne.
Korac didn’t buy Rayne’s declaration over the comms. There was something missing in how she described Nox’s end, aside from swallowing his nacre. Something she wasn’t sharing with the rest of the group, and Korac feared it. Too many people’s happiness relied on a healthy, living Rayne. Xelan, Sagan, not to mention Nox. Plus, Korac had grown terribly fond of the Sprite over the years.
Sagan Seamswalked into Korac’s quadrant, much to his relief and delight. They clasped hands, used the momentum to switch places with each other, and swung their twin axes.
Enemy heads rolled.
As the couple beamed at each other, a lieutenant answered, “Lures are ready, General.”
Glowing like a Valkyrie in battle, Sagan gave the order. “Go ahead.” Breathless, she beamed at Korac.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
This was it.
In the midst of war, with her violet eyes bright and her tanned complexion flushed with adrenaline, Sagan was gloriously beautiful to Korac and now was the right damned time—
Screams erupted around them, followed by excessively loud slurping sounds as Imminent soldiers fell into Luk electric webbing and survived long enough for their insides to jellify while X and his troops consumed them.
Not exactly the soundtrack Korac wanted for this, but it was better than the electronic symphony Razor played over the mass comm. Korac reached into his pocket, saying, “Amos, I have something to ask you, and no, it can’t wait for a better time.”
Sagan peered at him across the clearing before her eyes went wide. “Down!”
Korac ducked without hesitation and recognized the familiar sound of an axe thrown overhead, reminiscent of their fight in her school cafeteria. When it struck its target with a wet thud, Korac stood and retrieved it from the dead Lamia’s chest. “Nice throw.” He turned back around to find Sagan had crossed the clearing and was standing right in front of him.
“You wanted to ask me something?”
Did Sagan know? Her eyes searched his, and tears pricked the corners. Of course, she’d guessed. His girl was brilliant.
Korac smirked as he took her hands, wet with the blood of their enemies. “General Sagan Sterling…” He released one small hand to retrieve the box, sweep his hair aside while she gaped, and drop to one knee, gazing into her eyes with their sweet tears. She cupped that trademark hand to her mouth, and he nearly choked on his next words. “When I say ‘give to me what you want; take from me what you need’—Those aren’t just words. Those are vows Icari make under Elden to union with you until Eternity takes me. And Sagan, if you’ll have me, I’m yours until that day comes. Will you share those vows and union with me?”
It occurred to Korac they had gone an awfully long time without an interruption, and he spared a glance away from Sagan to see their soldiers pressing the enemy back from their small clearing. Not just any soldiers.
The Lyriks.
Waving caught his eye, and Korac found Pehton giving him a salute. She mouthed, “Good. Luck.”
“State your terms.”
That spun Korac’s attention back to Sagan. Even with tears swimming in her eyes, her smile was playful and so very sexy. He smirked. “An Icarean ceremony with you in full garb. Do you know what that means?”
Sagan shook her head, still beaming at him.
Korac would enjoy this explanation, and he let the enticement into his voice. “Those ribbons Rayne sometimes wears on her biceps and hips—We’ll wrap you in those for the union, waiting for me to unlace them with each shared swell on our wedding night. The more lacings you tie, the more faith you place in me to achieve this synchronized chorus.
“And amos, even though we’ll bind you entirely, it still won’t be enough.”